


My MTL Oneshot Dump

by wumbo_requiem



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Short One Shot, i'll add more tags once they become relevant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24341944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wumbo_requiem/pseuds/wumbo_requiem
Summary: Short Metalocalypse oneshots :)
Relationships: Nathan Explosion/Charles Foster Offdensen, Nathan Explosion/Pickles the Drummer, William Murderface/Skwisgaar Skwigelf
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	1. Nickles: Late at Night Edition

Pickles slipped into the kitchen barefoot. The clock on the microwave read 2:30 am, but it wasn’t like time meant anything anymore. He started rooting around in the cupboards for something salty that he wouldn’t have to cook. There was a crumpled up bag of chips on the top shelf. He reached for them- of course, he was too short to reach.

“Damn it!” The redhead quietly cursed. He tried standing on his tip toes and even jumping up to get it but it was no use. There was only one logical thing to do - climb up on the counter. Just as he had swung his right knee up onto the cool surface, a light flicked on behind him. Pickles whipped his head around, dreads flying and falling back down onto his shoulders in a whirl. “Nat’an, what are you doing up? It’s two in dah mornin’!”

“Uh, yeah, I could ask you the same thing…” Nathan’s eyes scanned Pickles, lighting up once he recognized his predicament. “Are you trying to reach my bag of chips? You know I put it up there for a reason.”

“You motherfucker!” 

Nathan snickered and approached the counter. He leaned his hip against it, crossing his arms. “I can help, you know. You just have to ask.” There was a teasing edge in his voice.

“Screw dat! I  _ gaht _ it, okay?” His face heating up, he tried to get the other leg up on the counter, and stopped when he thought he heard a crack. He slid back down in defeat, planting both feet back on the kitchen tile with a “plap”.

Before he knew what was happening, Nathan lifted him up by the waist.

“Hey, what are you  _ doin’ _ ? Lemme go!” He kicked, giggling as Nathan hoisted him up so that he could grab the chips. Even after Pickles had acquired the bag, Nathan would not let go, instead hugging Pickles to his chest in a loving dethgrip. “Put me down yah mahnster!!” 

Nathan planted little kisses down the drummer’s neck and across his rosy freckled shoulders. Pickles shuddered at the sensation, tightening and relaxing his shoulders. Nathan turned him around and sat him down on the counter. They looked at eachother, panting, with goofy smiles on their faces. Now at each other’s approximate face level, Nathan leaned in for another kiss, gripping the counter on either side of Pickles. Pickles obliged, winding locks of the other’s hair between his fingers. 

“All right,” Pickles said, breaking away from the kiss. “Let’s git back to bed.”

Nathan helped him back down and made to grab the chips, but Pickles stopped him.

“I’m naht really dat hungry anymore.”

“Suit yourself.” Nathan grabbed them anyway, and crouched down. The movement was practiced - Pickles knew what it meant and clambered onto Nathan’s back, fastening his arms around the brute’s thick neck. Nathan hooked his arms under Pickles’ legs for support and they were off. 


	2. Skwisface: serenade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was based on a tumblr prompt for some soft Skwisface! We do love a rarepair.

Skwisgaar plugged his Explorer into the amp, and turned the volume down low. He was trying to be quiet- Murderface was face planted on the couch. The two had been working all day with laser focus in the recording studio, to the point where Murderface kind of… passed out. Skwisgaar had had half the mind to leave, but then he got a better idea…

So here he was, Explorer plugged back in. He sat down gently on the other side of the couch, licked his lips, and pulled his pick out of his pocket. He glanced at Murderface. The bassist hadn’t moved. With that, he started picking the strings. 

“Here ams, eugh, somethingks I’ve been workings on…” he whispered. He played softly, picking and strumming a song of his own creation. He hesitated before beginning to quietly sing the words, barely more than a whisper. They were in Swedish. Skwisgaar found when he was creating his own songs, he was much more articulate and poetic in his native tongue. If he tried to sing it in English, the translations would trip him up.

He got kinda carried away, playing the song in its entirety while his eyes grazed over his single, silent audience member. He admired a lot about Murderface- he was funny, would actually work well with Skwisgaar if he pushed him hard enough, and he had more bass talent than the band actually gave him credit for. He was truly admirable, if you got past his rough exterior…

Skwisgaar realized the direction his thoughts were going in and shook his head. What was he doing, playing his regrettable Swedish love ballad to his unconscious bass player? That was not metal. He put the guitar down and sighed. 

“Why ams I even doings dis? It amn’ts like yous even awake… you can't evens hears dis probablies.” He shook his head, about to get up and leave. 

Murderface mumbled something into the couch cushion.

Skwisgaar’s heart skipped a beat. He froze. “Whats was dat?”

“”Hnnnghh”. Murderface lifted his head up and rested it on his folded arms, squinting in the low light sleepily. “I schaid, actually, I could hear you.” Skwisgaar said nothing. Murderface smirked. “It schounded nice- though, I couldn’t underschtand what you were schaying.”

Skwisgaar scoffed, hoping his blush wasn’t that noticeable. “Ja, dat ams because it was in Swedish, idiots.”

“Oh?” Murderface pretended to look shocked. “What are the wordsch? In Englisch.”

The Swede scratched his neck. “Eugh, it ams pretty brutals stuff. De words doesn’t really, eugh, translates in English, buts dere ams a parts about killings a guy, and… ja. You gets de ideas.” 

Murderface rolled his eyes, hoisting himself up to a sitting position, next to Skwisgaar. “Yeah, that’s gotta be bullschit. The schong schounded… schweet. I scheriouschly doubt it wasch about anything brutal at all.” Skwisgaar opened his mouth to protest, but Murderface cut him off, raising his index finger importantly. “And I never schaid there’sch anything wrong with that.”

They looked at eachother. There was a moment of silence between them. Skwisgaar sighed and let his shoulders fall. “Yous rights, it wasn’t dat brutals. It was actuallies, eugh, sappy. It ams kinda dildos.”

“Nah, it’sch not dildos, Skwis! It wasch relaxing. I liked it. I mean, I dont expect it to get featured on the album or anything, but…” Murderface yawned. “Yeah.”

Skwisgaar felt his face get hotter. Was it from embarrassment, or did he just not know how to react to the compliment? Maybe it was a mix of both. He felt like he had more to say, but what came out was just: “You seems tireds… shoulds we calls it a night?”

“Yeah, I think scho,” Murderface said with a smile. There was something behind it that Skwisgaar couldn’t exactly place. Before the blond knew what was happening, Murderface was leaning in for a hug. It wasn’t fleeting, either. The bassist wrapped his strong arms around Skwisgaar’s lithe frame and stayed there. Skwisgaar held his breath and tentatively hugged back, He wasn’t exactly sure where to put his arms, so he settled them somewhere around Murderface’s waist. Was that appropriate? Was that weird? He worried too much about it and let out a shaky breath against his will. 

“You knows…” He said after a while, “this ams kind of nice.” He leaned into it more, resting his cheek on Murderface’s shoulder and feeling the curly brunet hair brush against his face. It was softer than it looked…

“Yeah. It isch.”

They stayed like that for a while longer, until Murderface broke away. Skwisgaar started to pout but he quit before the bassist could see. 

“Now it’sch time for bed. I’ll schee you tomorrow, Skwisgaar.” Without so much as a second glance, Murderface walked away, leaving a dazed, rosy-cheeked Skwisgaar on the studio couch beside his guitar.


	3. Narlie: j e a l o u s

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off another tumblr request!

Nathan twiddled his metallic marker around with his thumb and forefinger, waiting politely for the chattering fan in front of him to pull out the cd she wanted signed. She slid it over to him and he scribbled his signature in silver ink. Then, unexpectedly, the girl turned her back to Nathan, facing Charles, who sat beside him at the signing booth. He suppressed a growl as he listened to the conversation he, for some reason, was not a part of.

“Sooo,” the eccentric redhead twirled her hair around her finger as she spoke. “You’re, like, the manager of Dethklok, right?”

Charles pushed up his glasses, and they glinted in the harsh fluorescent light. “Chief Financial Officer. I’m Charles Offdensen, pleased to meet you.” He extended a hand politely. 

The girl shook it, giggling. “Oooh, fancy title. So you must be, like, super busy all the time, right?” She bit her lip. Nathan didn’t like that. 

The CFO chuckled. “Ah, yes, that’s one way to put it. But never too busy for Dethklok fans.”

Nathan scowled. He was jealous, and not of Charles. 

“Uhh, I signed your CD, miss…” Nathan slid it over toward the girl, who whipped her head around as if she just remembered he was there. 

“Oh, thank you!” She squealed. “It’s been such a pleasure meeting you!” When she said it, she looked at both of them, but Nathan thought he saw her eyes linger on Charles.

“Take care, now.” Charles said.

“Yeah. Bye-bye.” Nathan snapped the marker’s cap on loudly.

Eventually the amount of fans waiting in line started to dwindle. As soon as they were alone, Charles spun his chair 90 degrees. “Nathan, what is going on? You’re very, ah, short with the fans, I’ve noticed. Why is that?”

Nathan crossed out his arm with a HMPH. “You know why. Some of the girls get a little too friendly with you. I don’t like it.”

“Why?” Charles asked, a knowing smirk fighting against his forced deadpan expression. “What’s wrong with them wanting to get to know me a little?”

“Because, I know why they’re doing it. They all want something from you. And they can’t have it. You know why?” Nathan got dangerously close to Charles’ face. His growling caused the CFO’s glasses to fog up. Charles blushed. The smirk won.

“No, why?” He lied. He wanted to hear him say it.

“Because. You’re mine.” 

Yes. There it was.

“Oh. Is that right?”

Nathan glanced around. For the time being, they were alone in the venue, the only others around being security Klokateers. He figured he could risk getting caught by them- after all, they worked for him and they knew they could get hurt (or worse) if they said anything.

He grabbed a fistful of Charles’ button up shirt, pulled him close, and kissed him tenderly on the lips. It was a long, slow kiss, one that Charles gladly opened up to. The two of them had been together for a few months. The rest of the band knew, and most trusted Dethklok staff knew, but the fans could never hear about it. But right now, they didn’t give a fuck if one was to walk through that door and see them.

Nathan was the one to pull away first, panting a little. “There. Does that answer your question, uh, sufficiently?”

Charles, who was smiling now, appeared to think about it. “Mm, yes, I do believe that satisfies my curiosity.”

“Good. Now let's get out of here. My arm’s cramped from signing shit.”

“Oh, you poor thing!” Charles laughed in mock concern. Nathan punched him lightly on the arm before slinging his arm around Charles’ shoulders as they walked to the car.


	4. Skwistok: scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another tumblr request! This one isn't really shippy unless you want it to be.

The band is rushing around the dressing room, hurrying to put corpse paint on and make sure they all look as brutal as possible. They’re about to play a very popular bar. (It might not sound like much to Dethklok now, but back then, they’d considered this to be their big break). They go on in five.

All of a sudden, Toki screams. He’s spilled paint down the front of his t-shirt. He starts to panic wondering how he’s going to go on stage like this. Luckily, Skwisgaar’s got him. This wouldn’t be the first or last time something like this happens.

“Okays, cry-babies, calms down,” the blond rolls his eyes and throws Toki a fresh black t-shirt. “Gets out of dat short and puts dis ones on.”

Toki nods his head and turns around, struggling to pull the soiled shirt over his head without ruining his makeup. 

“You needs me to helps you do dat too? Pat’etics.” Skwisgaar walks over and yanks the shirt off (careful of the makeup of course), and stumbles backwards. His icy eyes are fixed to Toki’s lower back. 

Toki can feel the eyes boring into his marred skin. He knows he made a mistake and turns around to find the whole band staring at him. His cheeks heat up, and he feels like he’s about to cry. He holds the black t-shirt to his chest, frozen, unable to put it on.

“Stops lookings at me like dat!” He warbles.

Pickles blinks. “Toki, what happened to ya?” He asks, astonished. Nobody else says anything.

Toki can feel his insides wrench at the unpleasant memories of his childhood. Fear grips his heart, making it as if he’s right back in the moment. 

“Please,” he mouths, barely more than air coming out, “I really don’ts wants to talks about it.”

Skwisgaar shoos the three onlookers away and grips Toki’s shoulders, effectively shielding him from the rest of the world. He doesn’t even need to say anything before the younger guitarist collapses into his arms. There is a silent moment of understanding between them. Maybe Skwisgaar hasn’t been through the exact same things as Toki. But he seems to get it, without words. Toki relaxes and sighs, putting on the shirt.

“I’s sorries, Skwisgaar.”

Skwisgaar doesn’t bat an eye. “You goods to goes ons now?”

Toki nods. “T’anks, Skwis.”

“Ja, whatevers. Tries to keeps up tonights.”

The show goes fine. Great, actually. Naturally, Skwisgaar outdoes himself on the guitar. Nathan is starting to get into the groove of working a crowd- he knows how to get their heads banging. Pickles gets an impressive drum solo. Murderface is really into it tonight, his face contorted in concentration the whole time. And Toki plays in perfect rhythm, despite the almost-meltdown before the show. 

Once they get back to the apartment, a grave mood falls over the band. No sluts tonight, and noticeably less booze. Toki shrugs it off and goes to use the bathroom. When he hears the band talking in hushed voices, he presses his ear to the crack in the door. It’s hard to be secretive in this place, with these thin walls. But Toki’s really good at being silent.

“I just want to talk to the kid. I want to know who hurt him,” Nathan distresses.

“I agree. It’s naht right to just ignore it, y’know?” Pickles adds.

“He scheemsch fine,” Murderface reasons. “Why re-open up old woundsch?”

Skwisgaar stays silent for a while, then sighs. “Looks, I gots it, okays? I wants to knows what happends to him toos, but if he, eugh, amn’ts readies to talks about it, den we leaves him alones. Alrights?”

A hush falls over the room once again. Toki washes his hands, tears stinging in his eyes. Skwisgaar really has his back, he thinks. Even though he can be such a fucking dick, he has his back. They all do. In their own ways, they’re all looking out for him.

One day, Toki thinks, he’ll open up to them about his scars, and how he got them. But tonight’s not the night. Tonight’s a night for celebration, so he puts on a smile, gets out there and cracks a cold one with the rest of them.


End file.
